


Special Delivery

by Basmathgirl



Series: From July to AUgust [7]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basmathgirl/pseuds/Basmathgirl
Summary: Ten/Donna AU where Donna helps run a tattoo parlour and Ten is delivering flowers from his shop, with some added in flirting.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Donna Noble
Series: From July to AUgust [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820155
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45
Collections: AUgust 2020





	Special Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> **AU-gust Prompts:** flower shop AU, tattoo shop AU  
>  **Disclaimer:** all I own here is having flowers delivered to me a handful of times.   
> **A/N:** it's been too hot/busy to write so here's one I wrote earlier.

Donna had just finished washing up the cups in the kitchen at the back of the tattoo parlour when the ‘ting’ of the shop doorbell rang out. “Won’t be a minute!” she called out, and then stepped through the long multicoloured plastic flyscreen strips that pretended to be a proper door, back into the main shop.

Standing there was a long streak of nothing wearing an ill-fitting suit who gazed wide-eyed at her. He was clutching a package that he hastily put down. “These are for Miss Noble,” he quickly informed her, pointing at the box. 

“That’s me.”

“Oh.” He shuffled about a bit on the spot, trying to think of a decent chat up line and failing miserably. “See you later.” 

Then, to her surprise, he ran out of the shop as fast as his old Converses would allow.

“What was that for?” she wondered to no one in particular as her eyes followed him back into the flower shop next door but one.

Big Dave, as he was known, because he was built like the proverbial brick sh!thouse and was covered in tattoos that intimidated most people, bounded through the door at that point, munching on the last remnants of a sausage roll. 

“What was what for? Here’s your sandwich. Bought you a drink too,” he commented, placing a bag and a bottle of fizz on the counter before his attention was caught by the box. “What’s come?” he asked.

“Thanks for doing that, Dave. I don’t know what it is,” she admitted, placing a hand on the box. “Haven’t looked yet.”

“You won’t know unless you look,” he unhelpfully advised, and then walked over to peruse the appointment book. “You still on to have that tattoo done this afternoon if no one comes in?”

“Yeah,” she faintly answered because the contents of the box had completely shocked her. “Flowers!” she announced. “Somebody has bought me flowers. Was it you? I suppose you think this is funny!”

“Wasn’t me,” he denied, holding his hands up in surrender. The last thing he wanted to do was rile her, especially in light of her recent breakup from a boyfriend. “Wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. What does the card say?”

Rummaging through the box, she merely found a small invoice with the name ‘Noble’ written on it; along with information about the flower shop that sat in the same parade of shops as the tattoo parlour. “What! That does it,” she fumed. 

Picking up the box, she stormed out of the shop and stomped into the adjacent florists. Inside was the same skinny bloke she’d seen earlier.

“Oi!” she thundered. “I never ordered these!” The box was unceremoniously plonked on his counter before him. 

Uh oh. Trying to be unaffected by the blazing ginger woman, he smiled his sweetest smile. “I’m afraid somebody did. They’re bought and paid for.”

In reply, she slammed the receipt down next to the box. “Apparently so. Where’s your manager? I want a word with them!”

“You’re looking at them. It’s me.” He then gave a little wave. “Hello!”

“Oh. Sorry,” she apologised, her ire visibly deflating. “Was expecting a woman.”

“Most people are,” he answered with a shrug. “Wish I had a pound for every time someone has said that to me.”

“You’d have enough to pay for a better fitting suit, or a new pair of Converses,” she couldn’t resist teasing. “Sorry. I open my mouth and all this rubbish comes out. None of my business, really. I followed you in here to ask who sent those flowers.”

“I can’t divulge that,” he answered. “Customer confidentiality, and all that.”

“Give over!” she chided. “Who are you? The local priest?”

“No, I’m John, known to my friends as ‘Doctor’.”

“Doctor,” she repeated in disbelief, and crossed her bare, tattooed arms across her chest. “How come?”

He grinned, enjoying this encounter even more now that he had properly gained her attention. “You can cure almost anything with the right bunch of flowers,” he arrogantly replied. 

“‘Wisteria ate my neighbour’s cat’,” she quoted from a magazine, gesturing the banner headline in the air. “They must love you down in A&E,” she drily commented. “So… come on then. What were you curing for me today?”

“Erm…” He bustled underneath the counter, and eventually pulled out a card, which had been burrowed away in his order book. “This might be the answer. Sorry, it fell off the bouquet.”

“No problem,” she assured him, taking the card from its envelope to read it.

It said: I ORDERED THESE FLOWERS SO THAT YOU COULD MEET THIS NICE YOUNG MAN. THE REST IS UP TO YOU. LOVE DAD XX

“The idiot,” she mumbled, wiping away a sentimental tear. “They’re from my dad,” she informed John, “being lovely. Must have done this when they ordered Uncle Ken’s wreath.” Giving her watch a glance, she asked, “Since you’re not busy at the moment, do you fancy coming in for a tea or coffee?”

“I’ve heard about those sorts of offers,” he joked. “You might lead me astray.”

“Depends,” she mused, “on how much you are put off by my tattoos.”

“Let’s find out,” he considered, turning the door sign to say the shop was temporarily closed. “Is your name Lydia?”

“Funny!” she groused, but still laughed as he hummed an old tune.

“♪♫♪♫ Lydia, oh Lydia, that encyclopaedia. Lydia the tattooed lady. ♪♫♪♫”

“Pack it in! The name’s Donna, and I’ll Lydia you in a minute, if you’re not careful,” she threatened. 

In that moment it sounded like the best offer he had ever had.


End file.
